


Little Things in the Morning Light

by Cybertronic Purgatory (orphan_account)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: AU, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cybertronic%20Purgatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight AU, mostly fluff with little plot. After the war, Samara and Shepard settle down with lots of cats on the Citadel and spend their nights solving crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Things in the Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aledrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aledrina/gifts).



> A birthday gift for aledrina, who deserves all the fluffy happiness of all her favorite couples, ever.

 

 

It began as a stray suggestion on a late lazy morning in bed, their limbs tangled in the sheets while they spoke of future possibilities. Navigating between obligations and duty, they had successfully found themselves in a place where neither of those heavy burdens weighed on their shoulders. A potent future rife with freedom lay ahead, but nothing seemed to stick.

 

“Let's get a cat.” What Shepard suggested then and there did spark a little curiosity in Samara, if only because she had no clue what a 'cat' was.

 

That afternoon she met her first feline, a little fluffy creature that let out high-pitched mewls as it climbed all over her lap before settling down. She was mesmerized by the purr rumbling through its body as Shepard stroked it, giving advice to Samara so she could replicate the effect on her own.

 

With her bare fingers she carefully touched the fur behind the ear, giving it a tentative scratch. When the cat twisted its head up towards her, eyes closed and front paws kneading her thigh, she was lost.

 

“What do you want to name him?” Shepard asked when they left, the grey-and-white striped cat dozing in a cage in the backseat of their shuttle.

 

She turned around in the driver's seat when the auto-pilot kicked in, and the cat's blue eyes opened as it let out a meow. “He is yours, not mine.”

 

“Ours. And I'm thinking Duke,” Shepard said, reaching back to stick her fingers through the front of the cage and pet it under the chin.

 

From then on it all happened so quickly, thanks to Shepard's knowledge of the right strings to pull. The import restrictions were still tight on the Citadel, but she found enough loop-holes to slink through that the time spent sorting through paperwork was negligible. While Shepard scouted out the perfect location in the recently restored parts of the Zakera Ward, Samara kissed her for a temporary goodbye as she set off on a few missions passed on by asari high command.

 

Traveling alone was not as fulfilling as it used to be, however. Samara found herself reaching across the thin spaces she slept in, tracing the outline of Shepard in the air; she mediated and judged in matters reserved for justicar intervention but afterwards she longed to be elsewhere. She thought she was far past any such feelings, but there they were, calling for her to be with someone.

 

It was an enjoyable sensation, and she passed through the motions of duty with a renewed purpose, keeping one particular person in mind throughout it all. One particular human.

 

When she returned to the Citadel, she was welcomed to something completely new: an actual home. Shepard greeted her at the door, paint stains still on her arms as she showed her around while Duke kept butting his head against Samara's legs and pawing at her feet.

 

“Do you like it?” Shepard asked nervously in the middle of the tour, and she began to list off all the things she had yet to fix and change.

 

Samara silenced her with a kiss. “I do,” she said in reassurance.

 

They did by no means live a calm and laid-back domestic life because even as the little wrinkles at Shepard's eyes became more prominent, that particular restlessness they shared resurfaced. There was no fighting, no harsh words flung around, but a tristesse that led each of them to drift without aim or purpose. They both voiced half-finished ideas and half-hearted desires for something else, but it led nowhere.

 

For a few tense weeks she wondered if they were about to be uprooted again; instead Shepard surprised her by buying the downstairs shop and refurbishing it into a cat café, adopting five more cats and spending her days reading at the front desk as customers trickled in. It was Shepard's place, and though Samara helped out she struggled to keep the cat's names apart.

 

She began to find their way of living too easy, unused as she was to going through life without hardships to challenge her every step. Even with the war long past, there were injustices, small and great, calling out to be corrected: the newsfeed was filled with them. Just because a war ended, it did not mean that everyone immediately opted to live a righteous life.

 

With much discretion, she purchased a few bits of information from the Shadow Broker – just enough to track down and bust an Eclipse chapter trying to set up business in Tayseri Ward. Feeling invigorated by the return to her old ways, she kept at it night after night after Shepard fell asleep with Duke curled up at the small of her back. Samara would rise from the bed and tip-toe out, wanting to keep her actions secret. After the war and the resignation from the military and dissolution of the Order, they both swore to embrace a quiet and peaceful existence, exhausted as they were by the years behind them.

 

She felt a sting of guilt each time she left and another when she came home, but she wished to spare Shepard the involvement.

 

Barely three weeks into her life as night-time justice-bringer, Shepard caught her wrist just as she was slipping out the door. For a second she looked annoyed, even hurt, but then her face lit up with a bright smile. “What, having all the fun without me?”

 

“Are you not upset?”

 

“I knew it was coming, just surprised you were the one to go first.” Pulling out her old armor set, she blew off the dust and began putting it on. “So, where do we start?”

 

Both of them broke their sworn oaths, but they were much happier for it.

 

 

*

 

 

It was early in the Citadel's day cycle when Samara came down the stairs into the café, all six cats doing their best to trip her as they weaved between her legs. Customers were already pacing outside, waiting to get in: the café was an unexpected hit with those who were unable to acquire a pet permit, coming from all over the station to spend some time with the felines.

 

The morning crowd consisted mostly of regulars, and as she unlocked the door and the hired waitress took their cover charge, she exchanged a few pleasantries with her favorite customer. He was an older turian general whose name eluded her: she never asked his name and he never inquired about hers either, yet they often spent the early business hours drinking tea and exchanging the odd war story.

 

That morning, however, he only seemed to have eyes for the cats. There was a haggardness to him, a slowness to the way he moved with hinted at lost sleep. She knew the signs, recognizing them from her observations of Shepard as well.

 

“It still amazes me,” he said as the white munchkin cat immediately jumped up on his lap, “how great a difference they make.”

 

“We all need company, however small it is,” Samara said in return, watching the cat kneading its paws against the hard chest of the turian, trying to climb out of his hands and into his cowl. The cat finally succeeded, curling its long tail around the turian's neck. “It seems he is in agreement.”

 

The turian exhaled a heavy breath, his mandibles flaring and nudging the cat who only purred contentedly in response.

 

There was a knock on the window behind her. A human stood outside on the street, the crossed arms and tilted hips recognizable to Samara anywhere. She excused herself from the table and motioned for Miranda to come in, who hesitated but then seemed to disregard her concerns, just barely stepping inside with her nose twitching.

 

“Perfect genetics and I'm still allergic to cats,” she muttered, looking relieved when all the cats ignored her presence. “Right, this won't take long. I wanted to personally relay my apologies to Shepard over the misleading information.”

 

“She is still asleep,” Samara said.

 

“Figures.” Miranda's lips curled upwards. “It at least helped sort out the false leads, much to our gratitude. The Shadow Broker is thankful.” She leaned closer. “She also sends her regards and apologizes she won't able to make it to the next dinner.”

 

“She is doing well, I hope.”

 

“Yes, but busy as always.” Miranda's face softened. “There is much keeping her attention. I need to leave.” She took Samara's hand and pressed a thin data drive into her hand, shaking it to make it seem like a parting gesture. “Good luck.”

 

Assured that the waitress had everything under control, Samara retreated to a secluded corner and went through the information. It was little in itself, but enough to give them something to work with come the evening.

 

The day wore on, and Samara spent time in the café. As little as she liked the actual business side of it, she enjoyed simply being there, drinking a cup of tea and reading on the couch by the small window. She easily spent hours upon hours there, working through the library they had amassed, a thousand novels from all over the galaxy in various translations and editions. Losing herself between the sentences, she did not notice the passage of time until there was a muffled thud from upstairs.

 

_Punctual as ever_. At the precise hour when there were none but her in the café, Shepard staggered down the stairs with her hair in damp curls down her back and eyes heavy-lidded.

 

“Miranda came by,” Samara said as Shepard entered, but only received a tired groan in response. “They apologized for the mistake.” Another groan. “She also passed on some information she guaranteed to be correct.”

 

“We'll see tonight, won't we?” Shepard mumbled as she flopped down on the same couch, knees swaying in the air.

 

“You look peaceful,” Samara commented as she closed the book.

 

“I believe the word is 'tired',” Shepard said, not moving the arm from over her eyes.

 

“You were late to bed. That is your own fault.”

 

Shepard aimed a soft kick at Samara's leg, hitting against the thigh. “My fault? You were the one with wandering hands.”

 

“They encountered no resistance.”

 

Shepard grunted. “Anyone else here?”

 

“It's empty.”

 

With a startling suddenness, Shepard shot up from her position, pillow and book flying to the side as she cupped Samara's face with both her hands and kissed her furiously. Her mouth still tasted minty fresh but there was a hint of coffee on her tongue as it met Samara's, and she slipped a hand to the back of her neck to teasingly stroke the sensitive folds there.

 

“Now shut up or I'll do more than that right here,” Shepard said as disengaged and fell back onto the pile of pillows.

 

 

*

 

 

In the afternoon Samara retired to the rooftop to seek peace and tranquility away from the bustling city. Shepard let her be alone, well-versed in the value of solitude, and kicked up her feet on an empty chair as she kept one lazy eye on the goings-on in the café.

 

It was a quiet hour with few customers, the cats lazing in the window or on top of the high shelves. As much as she loved the business, she was waiting for the hours to inch by so she could close it up and do something far more adventurous. Her skin was crawling with boredom and the mild static build-up of biotic energy; all the recent late nights had been spent following up on dead-end leads from the Shadow Broker.

 

The intercepted communications the Broker's agents picked up kept hinting that someone was skimming valuable resources being poured into the restoration efforts not only of the Citadel, but for Thessia and her immediate colonies. All the leads so far turned out to be dead ends however, and she was getting mildly frustrated with the lack of reliable sources. Information was a tad harder to get correct post-war, with many communications buoys still in disrepair or simply destroyed. A lot of the information trading was forced onto unsecured channels, but it was far safer to do it in person, and she was waiting for a delivery.

 

He was late, but his concept of time had always been poor. When he did arrive he slammed the door open, barely able to contain his excitement as he entered. “Battlemaster!” Grunt bellowed in greeting.

 

Shepard closed the book and removed her reading glasses, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the difference. When he came into focus again she saw how the plates on his forehead had finally fused together, one of the ridges a bit chipped and smeared with what seemed like blood – and probably was. It was only a few years ago she opened the tank and let him out, Grunt choking on water and coughing it up on the floor before pinning her to the wall and threatening her life... She felt wistful for a moment but pushed it away, patting his arm over the counter.

 

“Caught any big prey, Grunt?”

 

“The usual.” He dropped a large bag on the counter, tea cups rattling. Shepard opened the packaging and then quickly closed it, smiling despite the wrinkled nose on her face from the strong smell of fresh meat.

 

“Lovely. I'll put it away. Take a seat.”

 

She gathered it up and carried it up the stairs into the private apartment, kneeling in front of the freezer as she loaded in thresher maw steak after steak, the raw meat already packaged into helpful single slices. Between two bits she found the usual data drive, encased in protective plastic. Closing the freezer she washed her hands and flipped on the air condition to clear the lingering maw meat scent out, then cracked open the case and scanned in the drive's contents on her omni-tool.

 

Urdnot Wrex, while not exactly keen on letting go of Tuchankan secrets, still did a bit of trading now and again, but only via Shepard as she was the only one he trusted with such sensitive information. She would have to sort through it and then relay it onwards later in the week, but the pay would make the hassle worthwhile. She cleared the drive and then loaded up the files she had been holding for the last week.

 

She came down again to see Grunt with three cats on him, Duke having climbed on top of his head while Bronte and Zola were fighting for affection in his lap, tails and paws seemingly wrapped all around his hands.

 

“There you go,” Shepard said, giving him the data in return.

 

“Good.” He carefully petted Zola, the furry persian eagerly moving against his hand. “These animals are odd, Shepard. Bakara wondered if you wanted to adopt some krogans. She worried you might go too unchallenged here on the Citadel.”

 

“In a few years, perhaps,” Shepard said with a soft smile. “Let her know I'd love to see her new brood once they stop crawling and drooling on everything.”

 

“They never do.” Grunt hummed in displeasure, trying to pick the cats off of himself. “I need to get going, or Arlakh company will cause an incident in the Presidium. Again.” She helped relieve him of the cats and sent him off with a kiss on his forehead that left him as flustered as it always did.

 

The last hour passed without much fuss, and Shepard left the locking up of the café to the waitress, heading upstairs to change and get ready for the night's stake-out in less than ten minutes. She savored the feel of getting her armor back on, though she made note of how some places were not as perfectly moulded to her body as they used to be. One day she might even get it fixed, but until then she just tugged at the straps until it sat just the way she liked it.

 

When she finished and came out onto the street Samara was already there by the skycar, back in her old justicar uniform she used to wear back in the Normandy days.

 

“Nice outfit,” Shepard said. “You always look stunning in red.” The outfit reminded her of a great many things and false starts in their relationship, a promise of _another time, another life_ that got rephrased in the war's aftermath at the side of a hospital bed. It reminded her of her great sorrows and heart-wrenching desires, but all the more of how far they had come since then.

 

Shaking herself out of the reverie, she made to climb into the driver's seat but Samara quickly swiped the keys from her and nudged her onto the passenger side. “You still haven't forgiven me for Illium, have you?”

 

“It was a memorable ride,” Samara said. “Enough so that I never wish to repeat it.”

 

“You have to admit, it was fun.”

 

“Your idea of what constitutes fun keeps surprising me. I did not know that head-on collisions with trucks in tunnels were so entertaining to you.”

 

“Danger makes life exciting.”

 

She smiled. “A little, perhaps.” Samara got them there without incident and set the skycar down on the rooftop of a building opposite the one they had been tipped off about. As they climbed out Shepard rolled her shoulders and stretched while Samara took up position at the edge to scope the area out. It did not take long before she waved Shepard over. “There,” she said, pointing at the fourth floor of the building across the street.

 

“I recognize him,” Shepard muttered after a few seconds. “He's a new member of the Systems Alliance parliament.” She glanced over the rest of the area – not many guards, but the ones present were well-armed and, by the looks of it, Eclipse. They had each entrance and floor covered, but... “Now this is what I call fun.” The biotic glow flared around her as she prepared the jump across the distance.

 

“Zoë...” The warning in Samara's voice went unheeded as Shepard shot across the distance, slamming right into the target they had been hunting. After she had him knocked-out, she quickly turned her head around to watch Samara leap off the edge, biotics slowing her descent until she landed lightly on her feet to deal with the guards on the front while Shepard charged across the room to put her fist in another's face.

 

 

*

 

 

“This is beautiful,” Samara murmured as she broke off another piece of the breakfast croissant as they sat on the rooftop of the Huerta memorial wing going across the water. Their business with the criminal underworld was concluded for the night, but the adrenaline was still pumping through their veins; sometimes it took hours to unwind afterwards, but she felt herself relax as her gaze wandered between the artificial sky above and the crystal-clear waters below.

 

Shepard was on her back by Samara's side, heavy armor discarded and her feet just barely dangling off the side of the building. “Do you find it boring?”

 

Samara felt herself go cold. It was a conversation she had been dreading, the restlessness sneaking into their lives again and uprooting them. “Compared to?”

 

“Your justicar days?” Shepard rolled over onto her stomach, the tank top twisting around her torso as she did. “You never speak much of them.”

 

“They were days filled with wonder, with seeing the highs and lows of the galaxy, of splendors and beauties just as much as depravities and destruction.” Samara finished off the croissant and then touched the back of Shepard's head, fingers curling in the wild tresses. “What is there to say of them, other than that they are long since past, a mere existence spent obeying a Code replaced with a new life.”

 

“I just worry sometimes,” Shepard sighed, closing her eyes as Samara played with her hair. “That I am not enough. That this is not enough.”

 

“I find it sufficient.” Seeing the raised eyebrow, she amended her statement. “It is perfect, love. You have given me so much, but above all, you gave me a life to live again. There is no way to express what that means to me.”

 

“That's fine.” Shepard hooked one arm around Samara's neck, pulling her down so that she was on her back and Shepard straddling her hips. She leant down, exhaling a warm breath against her lips. “You have done the same for me.”

 

The hands moved from her neck down her torso, fingertips tracing out patterns between the marks and scars across her skin while Shepard's lips moved against hers. The fabric of her suit seemed to come apart without the slightest effort from the calloused hands, and her legs parted as a hand slipped between fabric and skin. It kept moving downwards, lingering at times, circling her navel and hipbones, the mouth shifting lower too.

 

She nipped at Samara's jaw as the finger first brushed against the fabric of her underwear before pushing past it, teasing as her tongue and lips came to move over the delicate folds at the side of her neck. Samara cupped Shepard's face as she melded, her nervous system lit up with the fierce heat that always existed in Shepard. She burned bright like a sun, hot like a summer day as she touched and parted, fingers pushing inside of Samara.

 

Above, the hue on the artificial sky changed slowly overhead, the light coming on as Samara sighed out a name over and over, writhing under the perfectly applied pressure. As she drew closer Shepard moaned too, loud and unashamed, before she rolled off and lay down on the side of Samara, her hand still between Samara's legs and a tremor coursing through both of them.

 

They stayed joined during the afterglow, breathing returning to a steady rhythm. Samara felt the light tickle Shepard's nose and she laughed just as Shepard sneezed before also breaking out in laughter. Half-naked and sweaty, smelling of sex and a long night, they kept on laughing, light-hearted and at ease with everything in their one perfect moment.


End file.
